


Same Heart, Same Blood

by loosingletters



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Child Soldiers, Gen, Inquisitor Luke Skywalker, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Jedi Leia Organa, Luke Skywalker Needs A Hug, POV Second Person, Suicidal Thoughts, clone culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23634130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loosingletters/pseuds/loosingletters
Summary: You do not have a name. You were supposed to be Lord Vader’s son, the copy of the child that had died on the desert planet, but the man that never was your father rejected you. You grow up hating him (you just want to belong).The Emperor made a clone of Luke Skywalker, who died as a mere five-year-old. The rest, as they say, was the Will of the Force.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader & Luke Skywalker, CC-2224 | Cody & Luke Skywalker, Mara Jade & Luke Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Leia Organa
Comments: 22
Kudos: 265





	Same Heart, Same Blood

**Author's Note:**

> You know, I rambled about this AU at 1 a.m. to a friend and then I just had to write it.

You do not have a name, not yet, but the old man with the golden eyes has promised that you will soon. He calls himself the Emperor, _your_ Emperor as if it is a fundamental truth you better not question.

_(It is one, you’re going to learn later, wheezing for breath as you kill the children you grew up with. It also a lie, you realize two decades in the future, crying in a princess’s embrace.)_

But right now you don’t think to question it. Your thoughts and memories are much too confusing and your muscles still jerk from phantom pains. The environment, the wealth of the palace around you, confuses you and you aren’t sure how to handle it. You are dressed in fine black clothes by two servants and the fabric is much softer than the one you are used to wearing.

_(These too are memories you don’t recall.)_

“You are the son of my Lord Vader,” your Emperor tells you. “You will bring glory to the Empire.”

You nod because that is obviously what your Emperor expects. He smiles, strangely, kind and loathing at the same time, and orders you to walk with him.

You meet Lord Vader in the throne room. He is a monster dressed in blood and torment, but you think you might learn to adore your father. He is strong, that much you can tell already, but he is also in great pain. You think that if you might ease his suffering, you could be happy for the rest of your life.

“I have discovered a great plot,” the Emperor tells your father. “After you killed you dear wife, the Jedi took her body not just to bury it on Naboo, but to steal your child as well. He brought your son to Tatooine, to be raised as a farmer. I felt a great disturbance in the Force, my apprentice, and it was there that I found your child, a son. Unfortunately, it was too late already. Your son had been slain like your mother before him.”

Darkness pours from your Father, so thick and terrible, you feel like you’re choking, as if your breath was stolen away. But you stay silent because your Emperor told you so.

“Embrace the anger, Lord Vader. You may swallow that planet whole if it pleases you, but first I want to introduce you to someone.”

You are young still, so small and frail and caught off-guard, but even now you understand what the Emperor is asking. You step forward, hoping to make a good impression on your father.

“I have tried to remedy that cruelty,” the Emperor says. He puts a hand on your shoulder, keeping you close and away from your father. You’re not sure why he’s doing it. Aren’t you supposed to go to him?

“Child, introduce yourself,” the Emperor orders.

You frown as you aren’t sure what to say. You haven’t been given a name yet, but you want to make him proud. After all, you’ve been told your purpose and your role already. Son of Lord Vader, glory to the Empire.

“Hello, Father,” you say, trying to look as brave as possible. “I am here to please you.”

“A perfect clone of the boy,” the Emperor explains your existence. “A gift.”

_(You don’t know what a clone is, not yet. Later, during your lessons, you will read about the Republic and the Clone Wars, understand that you are a pale copy made to be used as a common tool without any rights or a name. You will beat your opponents into the ground until you and they are bleeding. You’re snarling in anger and remembering that this, at least, is yours.)_

Your father doesn’t answer at first, he just breathes as the hatred and pain continue to surround him.

“Is the clone to be a replacement for my son, then?” He finally asks.

“If you wish. The Force is strong in him,” the Emperor replies.

You get the impression that your father stares at you, mustering how you measure up to his expectations. You stand as straight as you can and smile a little shyly perhaps. You want him to love you, but you only need him to like you.

“Give him to the Inquisitors,” your father replies. “I have no use for him.”

You watch as your father leaves, standing still at the Emperors side. You don’t understand what happens until the Grand Inquisitor comes, pulls you harshly by your arm and drags you away to the training facility.

They call you _boy_ and _child_ and _soldier_ and _brother_ and you aren’t given a name. You don’t dare to ask for one, so sure that your father will still come.

The hope leaves you the first time they break your bones and you scream and beg, try to reach out to the darkness you experienced only once. He’s far away, that much you know.

He’s not coming to save you.

Glory to the Empire.

You’re nobody’s son.

X

Half the time the Force is screaming at you, the other half is spent being shouted at by the other Inquisitors. They teach you discipline, loyalty to the Empire and all the skills needed to ensure the Emperor will always sit on his throne. You’re not sure whether you’re actually loyal to the Empire. It’s all you have ever known and you suppose you should be thankful to it for creating you, but you aren’t.

You hate it, you resent your own existence to the core. You weren’t born, you were made to bleed and die for the Empire. And, being forced through its punishing training, you catch yourself thinking that death might be kinder. The numbers of the Inquisitors always stay roughly the same, but only because they steal children as quickly as they kill them.

You refuse to be murdered by them; you won’t give them the satisfaction. You will live and you will serve and you will bring glory to the Empire.

_(You will fight and keep fighting until you’re standing in front of Lord Vader and force him to acknowledge you. You will be great and he will realize all he lost when he threw you away.)_

The thoughts of running away or defecting to the rebels never cross your mind, but the idea of compassion does. It is forbidden to you, to all Inquisitors. You are taught how to forget it in the death matches they force you to compete in. The weakest get the chance to prove themselves one last time, while the oldest are made to kill the companions they share a room and a table with.

The lesson never sticks.

It is compassion that saves you again and again.

Your shields are made of durasteel. Nobody can get through them, no matter how hard your teachers try, but invading their minds is so much easier. You suggest they stop kicking you when you are already down and they do.

Your talents don’t go unnoticed, they never do in a place like this. You are taught infiltration, how to smile and make your blue eyes light up in childish wonder. When you are ten, you meet a girl two years younger than you with the same skill set.

Her hair is bright red and stands out as much as your own blonde crown. She doesn’t have a name either, at least not until the two of you are stuck in a dorm together. Nightmares are a frequent occurrence here and she screams.

You’re tired, you want to sleep, you slip into her dreams.

_(There is a woman standing in the desert, screaming at you. She’s crying and you think you are as well. The girl is hiding in a basement and watches her mother die shouting her daughter’s name. The scene is familiar. You don’t know that the first part of the dreamscape isn’t Mara’s but yours until it’s nearly too late.)_

You call her Mara when you’re alone and she hurls whatever nickname she can think of at you. You still don’t have a name, only a rank.

It’s Third Brother right now.

_(By the end of the year it will be Second Brother and when you’re fourteen, you will be the First Brother. They will begin to whisper about Siths and Apprentices you will stare at your face in the mirror every morning, wondering why your eyes are still blue.)_

Mara likes to stick to words associated with the sky.

“It’s because you always volunteer for missions, just to pilot, Skyspawn,” Mara says with an eye roll.

You enjoy flying. It makes you feel like you are free, even when you’re stuck in a durasteel container. If you had been given a choice as a child, you’d be a pilot instead of an Emperor’s Hand.

The title is given to you on your creation day. The Emperor smiles, tells you he is proud of you. You’re thankful for your shields because you honestly couldn't care less about what he thinks.

_(It’s not him you want to impress.)_

All you know is that your training is finally complete and that your life might not be your own, but even just the taste of more room to be whoever you want to be leaves you dreaming. Then, after half a year of doing missions handed to you by the Emperor himself, he gives you your first long-term assignment.

He puts you on the crew of Lord Vader’s flagship.

You are to assist Lord Vader in all matters. You are given an appropriate uniform and a new name for all the other personnel to use when addressing you.

Commander Forbes.

Forn Besh.

First Brother.

Even Mara’s worst nicknames, and she has come up with some truly awful ones, aren’t as uncreative as this. You miss her like one would miss their right hand, but Mara is still training and you are not.

_(Vader never calls you anything but Inquisitor.)_

X

You think you might hate Vader, but you know he doesn't hate you, not really. He hates the idea of you, all that you represent. You are the son he never got to meet or raise, the Emperor’s total control over him, all his flaws.

Vader only really lashes out at you once. He chokes you with the Force, squeezes until you can see the stars surrounding you, and then he drops you.

_(You don’t know that for all that you are Anakin Skywalker’s copy, you resemble Padmé Amidala even more. It is only this that saves you.)_

For one terrible moment you wish he would have gone through with it. He could have snapped your neck so very easily.

_(You know because that’s how you killed the First Brother.)_

Vader introduces you as the Emperor’s asset. For all that you’re supposed to be undercover, Vader’s troops obviously know that it means you’re a spy. You are surprised at first because you didn’t expect them to be this loyal to Vader. The Stormtroopers treat you like an outsider because they are Vader’s men. The other military officers just treat you strangely because you’re incredibly short for your age.

You should report this to the Emperor.

You don’t.

The Stormtroopers start inviting you to the mess hall. It is only then that you see why they might be so loyal to Vader, hundreds of identical faces talking to each other at the same time.

Nobody told you that most of Vader’s fleet consists of Clone Troopers, but you suppose that it does explain why their missions have a much higher success rate. They have been made for war, just like you, and don’t know how to be anything but a smarter blaster.

_(You’re not sure you know either.)_

CC-2224 is your favorite. You’re not supposed to have favorites, but you’re not supposed to be compassionate either and that has only aided you so far. The other clones seem to pick up on your new acquaintance with him and now draw you in too. You gather that CC-2224 used to be a Commander, a position now reserved for fourteen-year-old Emperor’s Hands, and some of the other Troopers still defer to that.

Vader puts CC-2224 in charge often enough despite it all, so you begin to report to him too, report to him _first_. You gain the clones’ favor and you fight at the front with them.

At Vader’s behest, you raze through battlefields with twin red ‘sabers in your hands. You cut through droids and rebels and smugglers, execute on his orders.

You give him everything you have.

_(He doesn’t return in kind.)_

The clones start to slip up around you. They call you Commander usually, but when it’s just you and them between blaster fire, a _verd'ika_ slips out often enough.

They do not actually mean you, you realize quickly. Most men of Vader’s Fist wear a little extra color between their regular uniforms. They’re not supposed to do so, but you catch flashes of blue and orange. The battalions of the Republic are not as dead as they should be.

You ought to tell the Emperor.

_(But that would mean betraying Vader and losing this little space you carved out for yourself. You’ve collected trinkets of the worlds you visited and you get to keep them. The clones give you sweets and CC-2224 mutters about reverse grips when he sees you hold your ‘sabers for the first time.)_

You don’t.

_(You quietly look up the old Republic battalions. 501st blue and 212th orange. General Kenobi and Skywalker, blue lightsabers. Commander Tano with twins. You wonder if it’s her CC-2224 is thinking of when he sees you.)_

You’re just like the clones, you think. A _vod_ to a dead child. But you don’t dare to actually voice your thoughts. You think CC-2224 might know anyway.

_(This is why Vader hates you. The clones, for all that they are supposed to be identical, have slightly different skills and tastes. You’re not a perfect copy. You never were.)_

But you‘re still the Emperor‘s Hand. You‘re called back to Coruscant regularly to report and train with the other Inquisitors. You‘ve only become stronger since you left, even if you haven’t become much taller. You see Mara only for moments during the daytime, but she doesn’t fail to tease you about your height when you‘re stuck in your room, turning your sheets red because of badly treated injuries.

“You’re getting popular here,” Mara tells you. “They call you Vader’s attack dog.”

 _Vader’s replacement_ , is what she actually means. It makes a terrible amount of sense. Your presence throws Vader off, the Emperor thinks you’re only his own and you were made for this.

The Force is strong in you.

Vader has ambitions, mourns a child and a wife and perhaps - this thought occurs to you for the first time then - he blames the Emperor. If he is so strong, was stronger than Vader, he should have been able to stop it all from happening.

But he hadn’t.

You exist and you’re not a gift, you’re a punishment and you will be the instrument of the Emperor’s downfall.

_(You’re tired. You don’t want to be anyone’s anything. You just want to belong somewhere and be left in peace.)_

You crawl out of your bed, allow yourself to wince because of your bruised ribs and make yourself comfortable in Mara’s bunk.

“Aren’t we too old for this?” She asks, but makes space for you anyway.

It’s an old song and dance, except you’re not ten-and-eight, you’re seventeen-and-fifteen nowadays. You’re exhausted from all your nightmares. You have become used to them, but they’re still painful.

_(You dream about the battlefields, the smell of burned flesh. Children half your age you can’t afford to care for and sentients twice your age who do. You’re not a torturer, you’re a soldier, but it doesn’t make a difference when you are ordered to slaughter them like cattle.)_

“No,” you tell her. The clones still share bunks after particularly gruesome campaigns and they are much older than the two of you.

Mara’s breath evens out before yours. You want to take her with you on board of the Devastator. She’s one of the most skilled Inquisitors, your teamwork is great and Vader hasn’t tried to outright kill you in three years. Mara would be safe and away from the Imperial Center.

Vader might always send you into the worst parts of the battles, but you return victorious.

_(It’s spite, you tell yourself, but that’s a lie. You still only want to make him proud, have him acknowledge you. Just once you want him to look at you like he did before.)_

You will just have to keep fighting.

X

The clones don’t celebrate birthdays, they don’t have any, and the Inquisitors never do either. You know you were created on Empire Day, so sometimes it feels like you’re celebrating having made it through another year. This campaign though leaves much to be desired. Vader is always called back to Coruscant for Empire Day, but this year his troops have been left behind, turning another rebel cell to dust. You’re dirty and haven’t eaten in a week and want to go back to the ship.

“I hate marching through caves,” CT-4545 complains. “It’s dark and wet and urgh.”

“We’re halfway through already,” CC-2224 says. He’s walking right behind you and from experience you know he will tackle you to the ground first, should any complications arise.

_(It’s comforting in a way you can’t quite understand.)_

“At least we’ve got somebody to light up our way, don’t we?”

The clone means you and you can’t help smiling. You’re glad you’re walking in front of the, so that they can’t see it. All of you engineered war machines have a role to play still after all.

“You sense any danger, _nau'ul_?” CT-4545 asks.

 _Candlelight_.

CC-2224 had come up with the moniker after seeing you train in the dark, only the red of your ‘sabers illuminating the training hall. A week later, every Clone Trooper had been using it in the appropriate moments.

The mission absolutely sucks, but you’re in good company at least. Using your lightsabers as flashlights is ridiculous, but you don’t mind at all.

“No danger,” you reply and hope the campaign will be over soon, but you already know it's useless.

The battles get worse. There are civilians here and you are told to ignore them and keep fighting. You’re not allowed to hesitate, but there’s a little girl with red hair and you look away, just for a second.

_(It’s enough.)_

You get thrown to the ground, your head smacks against the dry earth and dust gets into your eyes. Somebody is lying on top of you and you push them off.

Their armor is white because everyone’s is, but you’ve always been able to tell them apart in the Force.

“CC-2224!”

He took the shot meant for you, and this one wasn’t just a blaster shot. The people of this planet use sharper weapons, reply on bleeding you dry in the most violent ways because they can’t afford blasters.

He’s bleeding.

You take off his helmet and try to get him out of his armor. He needs to get medical treatment, but you’re on the frontlines and there are no medics here.

_(They don’t get wasted on troopers and you’re expected to be able to protect yourself. CC-2224 has taken to checking up on you after fights because you spent the first nine years you can remember hiding away all weaknesses to survive.)_

“ _Kriff_ ,” you hiss.

CC-2224 is getting paler by the second, but his face isn’t crunched in pain. He doesn’t look like he’s feeling anything at all.

“You safe, _verd'ika?”_ CC-2224 slurs.

Somebody is shouting for a medic. It might be you.

“No, no, _no_ ,” you stutter. You press your hands on CC-2224’s wound, but the blood just keeps welling up. “You can’t die here!”

“It’s my time,” CC-2224 rattles. He pulls at his hands, taking off an orange bracelet. “Keep it, _nau'ul_. Tell him- tell him I’m sorry.”

You get flashes of a man you know is Kenobi, then various _vode_ , none of whom you recognize. Clones have funeral rites, you know this much, but they rarely get to practice them. The Empire doesn’t care about its dead, but you do and you can’t do it.

“Don’t- don’t leave me here, _please_ ,” you beg. “Please, _Cody_ , please, you have to make it. You can’t leave me here, I don’t have anyone else. Cody- Cody, _please_ , I don’t know how to-“

Cody doesn’t answer so you scream in his stead.

The next hours are a blur. You know you win the battle because you return to the Devastator covered in red. You’re not sure how many people you’ve killed. You stopped counting years before you were sent to spy on Vader. There’s an orange bracelet wrapped around your wrist, untouched by the bloodshed.

Vader spares you a second glance.

_(It is more than he ever did before.)_

X

The next months don’t get better. The rebels become more desperate and daring, and yet the Emperor calls you back to Coruscant. He tears through your mind and you let him see everything but the memories tainted in orange and blue. Whatever he finds, he’s content.

“You have done well, Inquisitor,” the Emperor says. “Your talent may excel Lord Vader’s yet.”

“Thank you, my Emperor,” you reply, carefully keeping the pain out of your voice.

You keep your hands behind your back, you tug at the orange band, just to reassure yourself that it’s still there.

The Emperor is driven by ambition, but not the kind that forces you to throw yourself at enemies again and again, hoping it’ll make him look at you.

He wants total control, you’d be content with your own autonomy.

“Return to Lord Vader’s side,” the Emperor orders. “He shall instruct you.”

You have been learning from Vader since you can remember. The Inquisitors’ training is based on Vader’s ruthlessness and you’ve had the chance to observe him on the battlefield. You’re already copying a lot of his fighting style because, buried beneath brute strength, Vader is a rather cunning fighter. He wastes no energy and uses his opponents’ attacks against them.

You’re under no illusion that Vader hasn’t picked up on the fact that you’re learning from him. Being stuck in the worst areas of the battles often also means being near Vader, it gives you a chance to observe him closely.

If Vader were to instruct you directly, you’re not sure you’d actually keep learning from him. He might actually kill you and call it an accident.

“Thank you, my Emperor.”

You wait for him to release you, but instead he just observes you.

“You may call me _Master_ , my young apprentice. Lord Vader is hunting down rebels near Scarif, I suggest you haste.”

“Yes, my Master,” you reply and choke down the bile.

Your leave the Emperor’s hall as fast as you can, you don’t stop to see if Mara’s at the base and you run.

_(You do not want to surpass Vader. The higher you reach, the more terrible the fall. The Emperor’s anger is barely endurable when you’re otherwise having a good day. You don’t want to be his, you never did.)_

The hanger is pretty empty and nobody looks at you twice as you leave in your ship. You’ve been modifying it over the years as a side-project to keep busy when you’re not fighting or staying at Vader’s side. The ship is fast, but it’s not fast enough to catch up. Your comms pick up chatter and-

The Death Star is gone.

Hesitantly, you reach out to the darkness that never left you and retreat again when you find it unchanged.

Lord Vader is still alive then.

You should ask Command for coordinates, follow through with the Emperor’s assignment, but-

You were supposed to have been on the Death Star already. You’re supposed to be dead.

Your shields have always been excellent.

You run.

_(Away or towards freedom, you’re not quite sure. You’ve never experienced either and if not for the echoes of Jedha, Scarif and Alderaan, you might even laugh as freely as you did when Cody picked you up because you were too short to reach the control panels of your ship.)_

X

Your ship is not Imperial, you don’t have to ditch it. Besides, you doubt the Emperor would search for you on his own homeworld. Naboo is a beautiful planet, rich in colors and nature. You’ve spent most of your life in underground training complexes, on battlefields or on ships. Never before have you had the time to just look around and see the world for what it is.

_(Of course that’s not actually what you do. You check how often the security guards pass, see the pickpockets run over the market place, the arms deal going down in a cantina. You’ve been trained to check for danger first, so that’s what you do.)_

You keep nothing but your ship, the mementos on it and your lightsabers. You get rid of your boots, which never were all that comfortable in the first place, and every piece of clothing you own. You never want to wear the color black again.

Instead, you buy sturdy beige boots and pants of a dark brown color. You put on a white shirt whose hems are a bright orange color and wear a brown belt with some extra pouches. The vest you throw over it all is gray, has a lot of pockets and orange buttons.

It all matches the bracelet circling your wrist.

You look like a spacer and not at all like an Inquisitor. You’ve been taught how to disguise yourself for undercover work, but this doesn’t feel like a disguise, more like a homecoming.

Your Coruscant accent has to go as well and you pick up something that sounds vaguely Outer Rim, but feels familiar on your tongue.

“Name?” One of the many underpaid workers at the spaceport asks.

You could just slip into their mind and avoid leaving any trace at all, but you’re so caught up in your emotional high, you don’t even think of it.

“Nau’ul,” you reply because it's the first name that comes to your mind. You want to smack yourself a second later because dropping Mando’a with an Outer Rim accent on a Core World is a stupid mistake.

The worker doesn’t even care. “Last name or first name?”

“First name,” you say and then, because you’re committed and might as well go through with it you add, “My last name is Kad.”

You start hopping from planet to planet. You begin stocking up on blasters because your lightsabers are a dead giveaway who you are. Not once have you caught even a glimpse of any Inquisitor the Emperor might have sent after you, so you just keep moving. You dream of the desert and the sky and Cody’s last words.

_(You owe it to him.)_

Truth is, you have no idea what to do with your newfound freedom. You don’t want to spend the next decades of your life in hiding, hoping Vader kills the Emperor and can overlook your existence.

And then the wanted posters come out.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi, rebel, dead or alive.

Leia Organa, Jedi, rebel, dead or alive.

The bounties on their heads are unbelievably high, but what shocks you more is that Kenobi doesn’t look at all like the man Cody remembered. You knew he wasn’t dead, the Inquisitors have a more or less accurate list of all Jedi that should still be around somewhere, but you didn’t expect him to have aged so much.

Organa’s training must have happened in secret or started only recently. He catches a few holos of her with a blue lightsaber and she is good, but her movements don’t speak for a particularly long and in-depth tutorship yet.

They might profit from some support and you’re not too far from Nar Shaddaa. The crime-ridden planet has been calm still by its standards, the Empire hadn’t interfered much there and Grakkus’ obsession with Jedi artifacts was well known.

You will buy yourself your way into the Rebellion, to Kenobi and Organa.

X

Breaking into Grakkus’ vaults is ridiculously easy. You’re not sure what to reach for because there’s so much, but you figure the holocrons are a good start. You stuff your backpack full with them and are glad you brought a second. Grakkus has a whole line of lightsabers, hidden away behind glass panels. Deactivating the security is a child’s play for somebody raised to tear down every defense.

You’re out again and have left Nar Shaddaa before Grakkus even notices that he’s been stolen from. You travel from planet to planet, trying to find hints of the Rebellion. The work makes you a little uncomfortable, it is so very similar to what you used to do for the Empire, you expect every planetary drop to end with your blood red lightsabers cutting someone in half.

You haven’t taken them out of your backpack since you put them there, hiding them away from the world and, perhaps, yourself as well. The last weeks you’ve spent listening to the Holocrons, watch the Jedi Masters of old explain their philosophies.

You don’t understand them.

_(They were made for Jedi, raised safely amongst their kin. You are not a Jedi, not yet.)_

But the lightsabers are a whole other matter. You do not mean to touch them, to take them apart, but their crystals hum beneath your fingertips in a way yours never did. You pick up the lightsaber pieces as the Force sings around you.

When you are finished, you are looking at a new blade, a staff this time. You chose twin sabers when you were young because it allows you greater offensive capabilities, even if it’s more difficult. You’re hesitant to ignite the staff when you realize what you’ve done. This is not a choice, your teachers staring down at you as you pick up your defeated opponent’s blade to throw yourself in the ring again.

You forged this lightsaber.

_(The crystals aren’t red, and yet you fear.)_

The color of sunrise and sunset greets you.

For one impossible moment you feel unstoppable, like you never had any limits in the first place. Then you take a step back and an old scar that never healed properly complains, reminding you sharply of the day you got it.

Exhausted, you turn off the ‘saber and drop into the pilot chair. You have a group of rebels to find and you don’t intend to give up now.

You put all your tracking skills to use, follow the rumors and the bloodshed, the angry civilians and the slaughter. Lady luck is on your side because eight months after the Death Star, you do find a rebel cell.

Unfortunately, you show up lightsaber swinging, decapitating the bounty hunter who was trying to take them in. You can’t pretend to be a simple spacer now and, even though your blade isn’t red anymore, they recognize your face.

_(They don’t say it out loud, but your age shocks them. You’ve been Vader’s tool for six years now and, without the uniform and proper posturing, you actually look like twenty.)_

They’re unsure what to do with you and all your attempts at reassuring them that you’ve defected from the Empire are met with a snarl.

Of course they don’t believe you. You killed their families on Vader’s orders. They throw you in a makeshift cell and handcuff you. Their security is so lax that breaking out of it wouldn’t even take much effort, but you’re fairly sure that course of action wouldn’t end with you having gained their favor. So, instead you hand them one holocron and activate it. They understand about as much as you do of the Jedi philosophies but it’s enough to convince them to call Kenobi and Organa at least.

Organa looks at you with barely disguised anger. She snarls _Inquisitor_ and you think you might gag. Her inflection reminds you of Vader in ways you can’t quite comprehend, so you decide you’d rather focus on Kenobi.

You think of rough hands and ships models and banish the thoughts as soon as they arise.

He stares at you with dead eyes, as if he might be seeing a ghost. It makes you frown and he flinches. Before you can do more harm and ask, you recall the list you’ve been forced to memorize since you could read.

_(Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda, Jocasta Nu, …)_

You’ve never seen Vader’s face, but you were made in the image of his child. For the first time in your life, you wonder whether you look like him. Vader’s anger at Kenobi was well known, it wouldn’t surprise you if Kenobi actually knew what Vader looked like beneath his mask.

_(If you were more than one person’s mirror image.)_

“We caught him,” the rebels tell the two Jedi and you can’t stop yourself from snorting.

“You didn’t catch me, I’m here out of my own free will.”

One of the rebels, a male Twi’lek, hisses. Not every Twi’lek is from Ryloth, but you think this one might have been once upon a time.

“You can’t do _kriff-_ ”

You interrupt him by dropping out of your handcuffs and bending the metal bars of your cell so you could slip out easily, if you wish. Organa reaches for her ‘saber immediately, but you remain seated.

“Master Kenobi,” you address the Jedi instead. “I come in peace. I’ve brought a bag full of holocrons and lightsabers for you and your Padawan. I wish to…”

_(You do not want to join the rebellion. Your life has been dictated by other people’s causes. The Republic was weak because it allowed the Empire to rise and the Empire is cruel and doesn’t honor its dead. You’re here because of a dead man who cared for you when nobody else did.)_

“I don’t want to be the Empire’s anymore,” you finish your sentence. “I am a person.”

_(And you have a name that’s almost yours.)_

“What is your name?” Kenobi asks.

“I was the First Brother.”

Confusion and disappointment alike flicker across Kenobi’s face, but he doesn’t elaborate why. He and Organa ask for directions to your ship and in a show of trust, you give it to them. They return a day later, Kenobi somehow appearing to have aged another decade over night while Organa obviously still doesn’t trust you. You think about Cody’s last words, but you can’t bring yourself to say them out loud.

You stay silent.

They take you to the rebel base.

X

The Rebel High Command takes offense at being called rebels. It is Imperial propaganda as it undermines their intention to bring peace to the galaxy and rebuilt the Republic. They are an Alliance of Independent Systems with elected leaders.

You think it’s bantha crap, but you roll with it.

They question you about your decision to switch sides, about the way their military is organized, any codes you might know that are still usable, the Inquisitors and Vader.

And they ask about you.

You refuse to tell them your name, which is just random bits of Mando’a, stacked together in a rather uncreative manner and you can’t tell them where you’re from. You don’t remember, but you assume it was some cloning facility, but you don’t tell them about that either. They realize rather quickly that as far as personal life or details go, you actually don’t have much to share because there is nothing.

So they ask about missions instead. Giving mission reports is easy. You regurgitate your significant operations like important assassinations, Jedi hunts, battles won and battles lost and it reminds you all very much of the reports you had to do back in the Inquisitor Headquarters.

“Without the beatings,” you add, attempting to joke. “We’d always get those, but if you did well, you got bacta after.”

Nobody laughs.

It’s a work in progress.

They assign you Kenobi and Organa as guards, who keep your lightsaber. You’re not allowed to go anywhere without them. It’s a step up from being thrown into a cell you have to pretend is actually secure. You tell Organa that you could take her on the first day, honesty seems like a good approach, and she punches you in the face.

_(You could have avoided that, but the Jedi talked about releasing their feelings into the Force. Letting her punch you seems like an appropriate way of dealing with that.)_

The rebels continue to be wary of you, so you try not to cause any troubles. On some days, even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t have the energy for it. Your nightmares, constant childhood companions, are back at full force. You can’t shake them off, no matter how many droids and ships you repair and update. Sometimes, you see Vader choking you, more often than that you’re killing Stormtroopers. The worst nights are those in which you dream of blood red sand.

You try not to let them get to you, but they get so bad even your Jedi companions notice. Your presence essentially keeps them tied down to the base. You’ve offered to accompany them on missions so the two of them can go, but that suggestion was denied. Organa goes off with that Corellian smuggler with the tempting bounty on his head, Kenobi stays behind with you.

You keep training, of course. You might not have a ‘saber, but you can still go through the katas. Inquisitors were trained to take down Jedi fast and without any mercy. You’re used to forms Kenobi refers to as _Makashi_ and _Djem So_ with some bastardized _Shien_. Somehow, telling him that you’ve learned the later by watching Vader doesn’t go so well. Vader never really deflected blaster fire with his saber, except as a warm up, he just stops them mid air and passes through. It requires a greater control of the Force apparently, but you’ve never really had a problem with that. The greater trouble is adjusting for the fact that you’re down one ‘saber. You still do the katas like you’re doing them with your twin reds instead of your staff.

At least this way you can pass the time while waiting for the other shoe to drop. Most rebels on the base know you already and no matter how secure they are, they ought to have a leak sooner or later. You’re still running from the Empire, even if you’re stuck at one place. It can’t be long before your past catches up to you.

And when it does, you’re not prepared.

Another rebel cell drops off and it’s only chance that you actually get to see them. You’re in the hanger, repairing ships while Organa’s astromech bothers you, until he doesn’t.

He begins beeping in excitement and rushes off. Kenobi is still busy talking to a Commander, but you’re under no illusion that he doesn't know where you’re heading.

“Artoo!” You shout and catch up to the droid when he’s made it to the new ship. A group of people are getting out of it and Artoo drives circles around one of them.

He has no scar, but a beard instead, his eyes aren’t as empty, but they’re the same color and you _know_ him.

“Rex.” The name falls from your lips before you can stop yourself. Being with the rebels has really shot your control to hell. You used to be able to get through torture disguised as training without screaming, now you can’t even keep your mouth shut.

The clone’s eyes snap to you and narrow. “Who are you?”

“Captain,” Kenobi acknowledges next to you. “It’s good to have you back. This is-”

“Nau’ul Kad,” you say. Next to you, Kenobi tenses. You had thought about telling him so often, but you never found the right moment, but Rex is here and he look just like-

“CC-2224 named me,” you explain and you wouldn’t need to be Force-sensitive to tell they’re shocked. “He caught be training with the ‘sabers in the dark so often and I didn’t- They didn’t give me a real name because for us only ranks mattered.”

You should stop. You’re better than this.

_(You can’t, you won’t, you fail.)_

There are still people running around, shouting and cursing but you can’t hear any of it.

“He- _Cody_ figured I’m just like you. I was supposed to be Vader’s. I was _made_ for him but he didn’t want me and Cody knew and he _did_.”

You tug at the orange bracelet, pull it off your arm and try to give it to Rex because that’s what Cody wanted, right? To rest amongst his brothers.

“He died for me. He looked after me for five years and he died because I was too reckless, because I _still_ want Vader to look at me and see more than his dead child.”

They continue to look at you and you don’t know how you’re supposed to make up for Cody’s death. It should be him standing here.

“I- he said to tell you he’s sorry.”

X

They question you again, this time you tell the full truth. You admit that fifteen, almost sixteen, years ago the Emperor brought you to Vader and told you that he is your father.

Except he wasn’t because you are an imperfect clone and he had no use for you.

You talk about how your assignment to Vader’s ship was meant as a punishment for the Sith Lord, that a lot of the troopers from the 501st are clones still, hiding their colors and that they are more loyal to Vader than the Emperor.

They ask you about yourself again.

You tell them that orange is your favorite color, that the troopers bought small trinkets for you and sometimes even managed to talk about their _jetii_ without freezing up. You begin to list the names of the clones who made sure you got your wounds looked at and the dozens of more you can remember.

“They taught me Mando’a,” you end your statement. “And when nobody else could hear it, they called me _verd'ika_.”

The looks you get after your confession are different. Not worse, not better, just different. Rex has to leave again and no matter how much you want you, you can’t go with him. He seems to have picked up on your mood though because he hands you his comm number and makes you promise to call.

Halfway through the next month, your appearance has apparently become so pitiful that Organa picks up on it and drags you to the training halls. She musters you for a moment, then she throws you your lightsaber.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she tells you and you grin.

“Wouldn’t think of it, Organa.”

She parries your strike with her blue lightsaber. It is not the same she was using before your arrival, but it looks similar. You’d bet that she used parts of her old one to make this one.

“Leia,” she says suddenly. “If we’re sparring, you might as well call me Leia.”

Between missions and reviewing intel, your sparring sessions turn into lessons with Kenobi guiding you. Leia picks up lightsaber combat at a frightening speed. You think for a split second that she would have made a frightening Inquisitor and are thankful she never was. In the beginning, you still have to hand in your lightsaber every time you’re done and then, one day, they forget to collect it.

_(Or perhaps they don’t forget, but they’ve learned to trust you.)_

Your dreams get worse still. They’re all similar nowadays. You’re staring at your own dead body, a woman screaming, a dead man, Stormtroopers, the Emperor’s laughter.

_(Your own blue eyes, innocent still and full of love, saying something you can’t quite hear.)_

You know they’re not visions because visions leave you exhausted in a different way. You mention them to Leia only once and for the next week, Kenobi stares at you like he’s trying to figure you out. You want to be mad at Leia for telling him, but you can’t because she was right to do so, especially because your night terrors start interfering with your daily life.

“I nearly took off your head!” Leia shouts.

You smile apologetically. “But you didn’t.”

“It was much too close still,” Kenobi speaks up. “You are tired.”

It’s not a question and you’re glad he’s not giving you the opportunity to argue. You’re not sure how understandable your defense would have been.

“I am dreaming,” you reply.

“Of what?”

Of memories you shouldn’t have. You notice only belated that you must have said it out loud, because Leia looks at you in worry, while Kenobi’s body language speaks of resignation.

“What do you see in your dreams?”

You shouldn’t answer.

You do.

“I’m in a desert. A woman is calling me, then she’s screaming.” Red lightsabers are flashing and you try to reach her, but they keep pulling you back. “I want to help her, but the Emperor keeps pulling at my mind-”

Recognition flashes in Kenobi’s eyes and you rise up to your full height. You’re shorter than him, but you know from experience that you’re no less intimidating.

“You know what’s wrong with me,” you accuse him. “Tell me and _fix_ it!”

X

_(Here’s the ugly truth you’re told:)_

Kenobi lost his entire life in just one day, but the thought of ending his life to join them never crossed his mind because he had a child to protect. A son, a boy, he brought to his family on his father’s home world. The child grew up happy and loved, but the one moment Kenobi did look away, the Empire found him and took him.

He spent nine years mourning the child he failed to protect, then you showed up at Vader’s side.

_(Here’s the ugly truth you remember:)_

There was a blonde boy sitting next to you, your exact mirror image. People came and went, took him and then you to test your abilities and skills and a thousand different things you do not want to recall because they left you in tatters. The Emperor wanted a means to control Vader, so here the two of you were.

You were all each other had, so you shared dreams and memories, strength and pain, hope and stories. One of you was older, but by the end of the first month, it didn’t matter because you were of the same blood.

Your bond wasn’t made out of orange cords, but it served the same purpose. There is a reason highly Force-sensitive people shouldn’t be cloned and, above that, should never form a bond with their mirror image.

You remember dying. You remember mourning your brother.

_(You blocked it all out to protect yourself.)_

X

“But- but _I’m_ the clone!” You shout, but your defense sounds weak even to your own ears. “I’m the clone of Vader’s dead child and he never wanted me.”

You do not want any of the memories to be real, but you remember bright blue eyes and think the reason you never wanted to be a Sith, is the brother made from your own flesh whom you curled up to at night.

“You’re nobody’s dead child or clone,” Kenobi, _Old Ben_ , says softly. “You can’t fake Force signatures and I _know_ yours, Luke.”

You flinch when you hear him say that name. You used to share it, whisper it so silently, you think you never actually said it out loud.

You have a name, you always had, and the Emperor stole it from you.

X

There are constants to every universe. The Sith will always return. Alderaan will always be the witness of terrible slaughter.

Darth Vader will always fight his child on Bespin.

The parameters of all these events are what vary from universe to universe. In this one, Vader is the one attacking while you are trying to stay defensive. You ought to kill him, it would bring the Rebellion one step closer to the Emperor, but you’ve seen what fighting for a cause instead of yourself does to people.

_(You’re fairly sure Vader hasn’t fought for himself in years.)_

Vader corners you. For all that you have grown stronger, he has thirty years of experience compared to your mere fifteen. This is never a fight you can win, in any universe.

But you aren’t trying to win. You just need him to lose.

“You are beaten. It is useless to resist,” Vader rasps as his lightsaber bears down on yours.

_(You know you can’t keep this up much longer.)_

“The Emperor never told you what happened to your son,” you say.

Mentioning the dead child, the _vod_ you lost, shocks Vader long enough for you to jump away and put some distance between the two of you.

“He _died_ , you filthy copy!” Vader shouts.

You want to laugh or cry perhaps because for the first time in all these years, Vader acknowledges you.

“Yes.” You shake your head. “But I _am_ your son.”

“No! That’s impossible! How _dare_ you lie to me-”

“Search your feelings, Father, you know it to be true. My name is Luke Skywalker and the Emperor lied to you.”

Your confession doesn’t stop Vader from lashing out. You still lose your hand and Han is still captured and you still fall and it is still Leia who guides Lando back to you.

But other things change.

You’re on Tatooine, standing at the graves of people you hardly recalled, the family who died for your survival when he approaches you. He’s still wearing his black suit, but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to slowly take your other limbs apart.

“Who is the boy I buried on Naboo?”

You are genetically identical, there is no way to say who was the clone and who the boy stolen from the desert. It should not matter, it does not matter, because his death was a tragedy regardless.

“My brother. Your son.”

_(You.)_

“Then the Emperor will pay.”

_(He does.)_

**Author's Note:**

> Is2g I had like 4 more scenes I wanted to include but no. This just got too long. Can you imagine that Cody was just supposed to have a small scene when I first planned this but then he became the central figure? Title comes from Five's quote “Look around. We’re one and the same. Same heart, same blood.” out of season 3.
> 
> Translations:  
> verd'ika - used affectionately like "little soldier" here  
> nau'ul - candlelight  
> kad - saber  
> vod - brother/sibling
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked this! I'd love to hear what you think.


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